What Happens Next
by CierraLuv97
Summary: Yes, it comes after iOMG, but not a cheesy post-iOMG fic. It's basically just what I think could realistically happen next in the series. Read if you are pumped for iLost My Mind! This means you, you, you, and the guy on the right. R/R
1. iConfide In Spencer

**_Hi, everyone, it's Cierra. I know I haven't been posting a lot in a wicked long time, and I'm sorry. It's just, I've come to think of writing as more as lots of phases of writing fever than a full time commitment. I'm definitely updating this one, though._**

**_In case you do not want to read this because you're thinking, "Ew, is this another post-iOMG thing where Sam cries herself to sleep or something and then Freddie writes I love you or something on her forehead?" (Actually, I just made that one up myself - because of Sam drawing on Gibby's forehead. Creative, right?) Because it's not. I've read, like, seventeen of those, and - maybe it's just because I'm a perfectionist, not that I'm perfect or anything - the plots are horrendous. This came up when I got really excited after seeing the iLost My Mind promo, so I looked it up on Wikipedia, like I always do with shows I love. And, maybe it's just a fluke, because it's gone now. But it had iLost My Mind listed after iPary with Victorious, followed by two episodes called iDate Sam and Freddie and iLove You. I was like "Awww!" and starting thinking about what those would be like. That evolved into a daydream, and that evolved into me getting so ticked off at forgetting where I was in the daydream that I had to write it down, and that evolved into this. So, I hope you enjoy. Tell me what you think, and please, be honest. I cannot STAND unrealistic compliments. _**

**_Sorry if you read that huge paragraph and are now discouraged from reading the rest. For some reason, I feel really good about writing this down. Probably won't in a while, but whatever. Read on!_**

**_DISCLAIMER: Do I even need to write anything else? I'm thirteen! Disclaimers are kind of ridiculous._**

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><p><strong>CARLY<strong>

"Spencer! Keep your eyes on the road!" I shrieked, just in time for Spencer to jolt awake and avoid a crazily swerving taco truck.

"Hate taco trucks," Freddie muttered from the back seat.

"Sorry," Spencer mumbled. "I wouldn't be so tired right now if I hadn't been kept up all night in a certain sensory stimulus chamber!" That last part was directed at me.

"It was hopefully worth it," I shrugged off his accusation.

"The fact that it has three big words in the title will get you an A in Truscott's class for sure," Sam pointed out helpfully. "She's used to idiots." I almost imperceptibly winced. Sam was almost never helpful - another sign of what had happened last night.

"Yeah," I managed, then turned to look at Sam and Freddie at the back seat. They were sitting as far away from each other as they could possibly manage, and they hadn't said a word directly to the other the entire drive. It was driving me insane (driving - haha, good one, since we're in a… oh, never mind). Normally, by this point Sam and Freddie would be not getting along very badly, and Spencer would have to pull over and we'd get a ticket by parking in a no parking zone (Officer Carl still hates us).

"So, how'd your project go?" I asked after a moment. If they would just talk to each other…

Sam and Freddie stiffened slightly. I saw Freddie glance at Sam for a split second, then he stared at his foot. Sam just looked straight ahead.

"It went… fine," Sam mumbled after a moment.

"It was good," Freddie added, but still not really talking to her. I kicked the seat, frustrated at having such stupid friends.

"Sam, we're at your house," Spencer said suddenly. I glanced out my window. Sam's small one-story home was on the right side of the car.

I frowned at Spencer. "I haven't told you what house it was on the street yet. How'd you know?"

"Just a lucky guess," Spencer shrugged, uncomfortable. He sighed. "The person who owns this house is using bras as curtains. That, well, it sounds like Sam's mother."

"Yeah, I know. She made the bras out of our curtains when she - hey, wait a minute, one of those is mine! Mom!" She stomped out of the car, slamming the door and yelling things at her house that really should be censored. Her shouts disturbed the soft morning sunset. A bird screeched and pooped on the already disgusting fence surrounding her overgrown yard.

"Wow," Spencer said in amazement. "Sam is really inappropriate."

"Yeah," I murmured. No words of agreement came from the back seat. I groaned inwardly.

After a long, awkward, emotionally aggravating drive, we arrived back at the apartment building. As soon as we'd parked the car, Freddie bolted out of the door, not even saying good-bye or thank you.

"What's up with him?" Spencer asked, getting out of the car.

"Um, some new medication his mom is making him take," I said lightly. "It's supposed to stop puberty or something."

"Poor kid," Spencer said sympathetically. I muttered something like "I know" in response and hurried out of the parking garage. I needed to think.

Of course, Spencer couldn't let that happen. As soon as he shut the door to our apartment, he demanded, "All right, what's up? Sam and Freddie went, like, half an hour without saying a single mean word to each other - actually, they said nothing to each other at all - and you've been acting outlandish all morning."

"Nothing's up," I said casually. "And I am not acting - what does _outlandish_ mean?"

"Strange or odd," Spencer recited. "Jenna is a librarian. She's encouraging me to improve my vocabulary."

"Jenna?"

"My new girlfriend," Spencer said proudly, rolling his r's.

"Does she roll her r's like that?"

"Yeperooni!"

"Ah," I said. "Well, I'm going to go eat some granola bars -"

"No, tell me what's going on!" Spencer insisted, jumping in my way. "You can tell me! I'm great at advising people!"

I stared at him. "No, you aren't! The last time I took advice from you we ended up getting banned from the zoo!"

"Okay, in my defense, giving the gorilla coffee was only a suggestion and secondly, I can't believe you were stupid enough to…" He was laughing, but got serious when he saw my face. "Tell me or I'll whip you with my Sham-pow!"

"Fine!" I groaned, flopping onto the couch. I took a deep breath. "Sam -"

"Wait, before you start, can I get something to drink?" Spencer interrupted.

I sighed, too used to him interrupting me to be bothered with being mad. "There's a glass of my special lemonade on the table right there."

"Slightly erroneous, but I ran out of Wahoo Punch last night," Spencer said, grabbing the glass. "Continue your story."

"Okay… at the lock-in, Sam and Freddie….they kissed." Spencer spluttered and started coughing like my great-aunt Jill. "Spencer, are you okay?" He shook his head, still wheezing. "Oh my God!" I stood up and frantically pounded him on the back. "I didn't know you'd be so shocked that you'd choke."

"It's not that," Spencer gasped, sitting down. "It's the lemonade."

"What's wrong with it?" I raised my eyebrow. For some reason, no one seemed to like my special lemonade. "I made it yesterday."

"No, it's just that last night, after I got back from playing poker with Socko's cousin-twice-removed, I really needed to pee - uh, I mean urinate - and I couldn't hold it long enough, so I…" Spencer suddenly took a double take. "Wait, Sam and Freddie kissed?"

I chose to focus on that rather than the fact that Spencer thought my lemonade was a toilet. "Yeah! They kissed for, like ten seconds!"

"And then what?" Spencer breathed.

"Nothing!" I cried, getting worked up all over again. "Sam left and inhaled about six pounds of ham and Freddie just stood there for ten minutes going, 'Uh… what… Sam… Uh?'"

"Wait, who kissed who?" Spencer asked urgently.

"I think Sam kissed him," I said uncertainly. I wasn't sure. Sam had refused to talk to me, or anyone, for that matter. "I mean, earlier, Freddie's mood-app said Sam was in love, but we all assumed she was in love with Brad. Because, you know, Sam hates Freddie."

"Oh, man, this is huge!" Spencer exclaimed excitably. "I saw something like this in _The Last Days of Forever_, when Gracie hates Jameson, but they eventually fall in love and have a child named Horatio but Horatio is killed by Jameson's ex-wife Mayra, but they don't know that, and -"

"Wait, isn't _The Last Days of Forever _a really cheesy soap opera on CBA?" I asked, smiling. "For like, teenage girls?"

Spencer, realizing what he just said, stalked out of the room. As he left, he yelled over his shoulder, "There's nothing wrong with liking effeminate TV shows!"


	2. iAm Rudely Awakened

**Hey, back again! I couldn't resist putting a 'special lemonade' reference in there. Ha ha! Hopefully you're reading this chapter, which either means you like it or are bored. Whatever the reason, give back some feed! Was it good, was it bad, what did you like, what did you dislike? I'm kind of pumped to know!**

**DISCLAIMER: Will someone please tell Dan Schnieder (that's not spelled right, I think, sorry!) to put iLost My Mind on SOONER than August? Because I'm definitely not in charge.**

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><p><strong>FREDDIE<strong>

It was the Saturday after the lock-in, and I had just begun to fall asleep. The lock-in was fun and all (well, they normally are - this one was just confusing), but it took a really long time to get fully rested again.

Anyway, I was just starting to dream. It was a dream I'd dreamt before; Carly gives me a new Pear laptop on our ten year anniversary and kisses me long and passionately. Except it was weird. First of all, I was over Carly and hadn't had that dream for years. And secondly, it wasn't Carly giving me a laptop. It was Sam. And thirdly, just as Sam leaned into kiss me (and just as I started to panic) the doorbell rang, making everything dissolve.

I opened my eyes and peeped at the clock. I'd only been asleep for ten minutes. I groaned and closed my eyes again before I recognized the sound of someone pounding at my door.

"Freddie!" I could make out Carly's voice yelling my name. "Get out here!"

I stumbled out of bed, down the stairs, and to the door. Yanking it open, I growled, "Whadya want?"

Carly breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God. For a second I thought your _mom_ was going to answer." She said _your mom _like some people say _the devil_. I saw her point.

"She's down at the grocery store buying ingredients for organic cumquat stew," I mumbled, calming down.

"Oh," Carly said awkwardly. "Anyway… we need to talk."

From the look in her eye, I knew exactly what she wanted to talk about. "No, no we don't," I said, alarmed. I started to shut the door, except Carly tried to push it back open, and suddenly it was a full-scale war.

"Let me in, Freddie!" She grunted, heaving with all her weight (which wasn't much) at the door. "You need to talk with Sam!"

"There's nothing to talk about!" I insisted.

"Yes, there is!" She said stubbornly. "Just talk to her!"

"Never!" I yelled.

"Freddie -" For some reason, she gasped. "Your mom's coming!"

"What?" I stopped pushing just long enough for Carly to burst in through the door and land on top of me.

"Ha," she said smugly. "I win." She shut the front door. An omnious sign.

"I just woke up," I muttered. "It doesn't count."

"Whatever." Carly stood up and flipped her hair, then held out a hand to me. Grudgingly, I took it and pulled myself up. "The point is, you need to talk to Sam."

"What I really need is to go back to sleep," I said. "I'm going to bed." I really, really didn't want to talk about this. I had no idea what to think. Yesterday, would I ever considered Sam as a romantic interest? You can bet your grape juice that I wouldn't have. Today, however, I wasn't so sure.

I mean, sure, Sam was aggressive and pushy and was basically a carnivore and sometimes kicked me in illegal places. And she'd always made it clear that she'd hated me. But, even I had to admit, she was pretty. Really pretty. She was honest - painfully so - and funny and never let anything scare her. She was strong. And that thing where she always had a weird nickname for me seemed less annoying than it used to be and more cute -

Crap, did I _like_ her?

"You have to talk to her," Carly cried, grabbing my arm.

"Why should I?" I snapped, getting defensive. "She's the one who kissed me!"

"Knew it," Carly hissed under her breath, then cleared her throat. "Look, you don't have to return her feelings. I mean, yeah, she's in love with you. That's huge. But more than that, this is the first time Sam's been brave enough to make a move. Do you know how scared she must have been? And the fact that it was someone she knew, someone she'd have to see every day from then on. She took a huge risk and I'm so proud of her. If you just never talk to her, do you think she'll ever get the courage to make another move on anyone else ever again? You could wreck her whole self-esteem. You could ruin her whole life!" By this point Carly was shaking me by the shoulders. I shrugged away from her.

"I think Sam will be fine," I said, though I sounded doubtful.

Carly stared at me, and I got the impression she was angry. "Fine. Don't talk to her. But just remember this: no matter what happens, Sam is your friend. She deserves to hear from you." She walked away, without looking back.

I shook my head. _I can't believe I'm doing this. _"Carly, wait!" I called. Carly stopped at the door handle, and glanced back at me. I swallowed. "If I go and talk to Sam, will you come with me?"

Carly slowly grinned. "And miss it? No way."

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Good."

"I'll get Spencer to drive us there later today!" She chirped over her shoulder as she left the apartment. "See you later!"

"Uh-huh," I mumbled. I crawled back up the stairs and collapsed on my bed, and it was then when the realization hit me: _What did I do_?


	3. iSound So Stupid

**Hey, everyone! I'm going to assume that now you're here because you genuinely like my story. Yay! Thanks for reading! Nothing really new (since I'm uploading these chapters one after another) except the time. So, yeah...**

**All I'm asking from you is some comments. Critisim or compliments, I really don't care, as long as it's honest. Feedback makes me a better writer, better writing gets me more feedback, and soon I'm a smash hit singer/songwriter - in my perfect world, anyway. So, click away!**

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><p><strong>SAM<strong>

I was over him. Honestly.

Well, that might've been a lie. I should've been over Freddie, that was true. I was Puckett. We love, we lose, we move on to the next cute guy in line, and by the next hour the cycle repeats itself.

But I wasn't sure that cycle applied to me anymore (well, the losing part did, I suppose). And I wasn't sure I wanted to be a Puckett anymore. I wanted to be -

_Oh, grow up! _A voice that I recognized to be my own complained in my head. _Don't you see what you've become? A Carly! A lovesick teenager! You already want to marry the guy! This isn't you, Sam! Where's your personality? Where's your need for ham and other assorted meats? Where's your urge to break things, and to especially break Freddie?_

If I could break him, I would. If I wasn't so darn _sick_ with _him_, I would smash his face. It'd be much easier to move on if he didn't look so attractive.

I stared at my reflection in my bathroom mirror. Why in the world I had chosen _Freddie_ to love? He was a tech nub, and he'd never been arrested, and he got good grades... and he was cute, and sweet, and occasionally funny in a geeky way, and _knew _me... wow, I was a goner.

The fact was, I _hadn't_ chosen Freddie. I swear, I never planned on even remotely _liking_ him. It just happened, which makes it sound lamer than it already is. One day, I'm giving stuffing rotten meat into his locker, giving him creative varieties of wedgies, and thinking of new ways to say _I hate you_, and the next, I was staring at the back of his head during science, whispering Sam Benson late at night to the ceiling, and thinking of a way, _any_ way, to say _I love you_. It had been pathetic - correction, it _is _pathetic - and my denial of the fact that I did like it made it even more so.

And I had definitely never planned on doing anything about my little problem - you know, besides shipping him off to Uzbekistan so I didn't have to worry about it. But Carly made me watch some stupid movie about this guy who really likes this girl, but never told her, and after twenty years (or one hundred and twenty minutes) she's hit by a car and dies, and he goes so insane from regret and grief that he throws himself off a cliff and accidentally drags his four-year-old son down with him. I mean, yeah the ending was completely unrealistic, but it had freaked the chiz out of me. And then I'd decided that, at the very least, I could not pound on Freddie all the time, and hang out with him a little, so maybe, just maybe, _he'd_ make a move for me.

Of course, I forgot about how stupid my friends are. The whole Sam-loves-Brad thing was a total screw-up. And I'd gone into the courtyard just to get away from them, since Carly was going to send me to the nuthouse with her constant _make a move, bla, bla, bla_ jabbering.

But Freddie came outside. It really was his fault. First of all, he just _wouldn't_ leave. Secondly, the wind was blowing his hair just the slightest bit, and he looked so darn hot, and it made me shiver. Third, he was talking about _love_, of all ridiculous things. And I guess Carly's _make-a-move_ speech wore off on me. Plus, when the guy you are possibly in love with begins to _preach_ to you about love, what do you do?

You kiss him.

But he didn't kiss me back.

So, I swallowed my pride and enjoyed my kiss. I know his eyes were open. You just sense these things. But it was the last time I was going to ever kiss him, for certain. I couldn't just stop.

And, when I did stop, he just stared at me like… well, like I'd just kissed him. I left quickly after that. It was just so embarrassing. Carly had tried to talk to me, but I pretended not to hear her over the sound of me chewing ham.

Riding home on the way back from the lock-in had been torture. He'd been so quiet and stiff. I'd wanted to lean over and slap him, talk to him, _kiss_ him (that one especially), to do _something_ to get him to react. I hate it when tension just sits there, and no one does anything about it. And I wanted to do something about it, except it was too scary.

I sighed and wandered back into my room, where I flopped onto my bed. I clutched my pillow to my chest and shut my eyes tightly. The very thought of him made me burn with humiliation. I wish I could cry. But crying was even more embarrassing. I'd rather just lie on my bed until he fades away.

After a few seconds, I heard voices coming from outside. Then the doorbell rang. Sitting up, I crept to my window and peeped out the blinds. Then I gasped. Holy _crap_, what were _Carly_ and _Benson_ doing at my house?

Suddenly, Freddie's head turned towards my window. I jerked away from the window, then glanced frantically around the room. I didn't have time to crawl out my window, and they'd easily find me if I hid in the bathroom. Could I sneak out the back door without them seeing me? Probably not.

I took a deep breath. _Calm down, _I thought desperately. _You just need to think. _Maybe I could -

But before I could really think of plan, my door opened.


	4. iThink This Is Awkward

**Hey, y'all (hehe, sorry if I offended anyone who says that but I LOVE saying y'all). Back with another chapter. I'm getting really pumped for the rest of this story! And I've gotten some eed-fay ack-bay, which is pig latin for feed back. Ay-yay! Thanks for your comments, and I'll be sure to keep doing what you like and fix what you don't! ... Nothing else really to say, except that I think they need to show iLost My Mind now, before people go nuts and storm the set. Not that I would, but I think lots of people on this site would. Anyway, here's chapter four!**

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><p><strong>FREDDIE<strong>

The truth? I was still fuzzy on the plan.

Spencer had finally gotten my mom to wake me up - she was afraid I'd be cranky - and me and Carly were sitting quietly in his car while we drove. In a few minutes, we'd arrive at Sam's house, and talk to her.

Except, I wasn't sure what I wanted to say.

I mean, when we first left for Sam's, I'd been in the 'Absolutely no way' frame of mind. Let's face it, Sam abused me and beat me and insulted me and was generally not very nice to me. And, when guys starting dating girls, it's basically means that the girl expected the guy not to get mad at anything she did to him. Did I want that from Sam? Definitely not.

But, the farther we drove, the more I was less certain. The good things about Sam - her prettiness, her (extreme) honesty, her determination (also known as being pig-headed, but still) - kept getting all mixed in with the 'she hits me a lot' type of things. By the time we pulled up to Sam's house, I was completely confused.

"Well, all righty then, you kids have fun!" Spencer said, grinning at me and Carly in the back seat. I got the feeling 'have fun' meant more than it seemed.

"They _better_ have fun," Carly mumbled, confirming my suspicions.

We thanked Spencer, got out of the car, and headed for house. Some of the bras were gone from the windows (the ones that weren't Sam's mother's, I assumed), so the house looked slightly less intimidating. I couldn't imagine having to live in a place like this.

"Poor Sam," Carly said, echoing my thoughts.

When we got to the front door, Carly rang a worn and greenish looking doorbell. As we stood there, waiting for someone to answer the door, I saw something move in the corner of my eye. Instinctively, I glanced over. The blinds on one of the normal windows twitched. Weird.

"Oh, hey kids." I looked back at the door - well, actually, it was Sam's mom standing there now. Wearing an _I Heart Vegas _t-shirt and holding a soda can. Classic Sam's family.

"Hi, Ms. Puckett!" Carly said cheerfully. "We're just here to -"

"Is that Freddie Benson?" She suddenly demanded, stabbing a finger at me.

"Yeah, that's me," I said, confused.

She slurped at her soda. "Interesting."

"Has Sam been talking about him lately?" Carly asked, elbowing me. I elbowed her back.

"Nope, and that's what's weird," Ms. Puckett whispered, glancing behind her shoulder.

"Does she normally talk to you?" I asked. I didn't know that Sam was getting along with her mother well enough to talk to her about guys. Isn't that huge sign for girls that you really trust someone?

"No," Ms. Puckett said wide-eyed. I exchanged a look with Carly.

"Um, Ms. Puckett, can we talk to Sam?" Carly asked nervously.

Ms. Puckett nodded. "Sure, whatever." She then clumped back into the shadows of the house.

"Is it just me, or did she seem drunk?" I hissed to Carly as we headed to Sam's bedroom door.

Carly rolled her eyes. "Freddie, she was holding a beer can. What do you think the answer to your question is?"

"Oh." I muttered. Now I felt stupid _and_ petrified.

We walked up to a white door with the word _Sam _scrawled on it in bright red marker. I clenched and unclenched my fist.

"Just tell her sweetly that you don't think it's going to work out, and that you're really sorry and don't let this discourage her, because there's gonna be tons of other guys, and -"

"Carly, I get it," I said quickly. Then I opened the door.

I was kinda surprised. I mean, I've been to Sam's house before, but I'd never been allowed into her room before. The first time I'd visited, her mother had quickly established a _No Boys In Sam's Bedroom Because I Don't Want Grandchildren And No Exceptions_ rule, which I, knowing the tendencies of the Puckett family too well, had chosen to follow rather than to question. I guess, because Carly was here with me, she'd figured I wouldn't, well, you know, _make a move_ on Sam. Which I wouldn't even if Carly wasn't here, anyway. Right?

The walls were light purple, and the carpet was surprisingly clean and still white. There was a bed in the middle of the room, with like ten stuff animals on them. Along the walls there were several shelves, littered with all sorts of stuff. Some of the things on it made sense, like a plush roast chicken or a mini Jackson Colt, but the ballet trophies and framed photos of Justin Bieber seemed kind of out of place.

Sam was standing in the middle of the room, looking like one of those bunnies in TV shows when they're caught in headlights. She smiled kind of weirdly at us - you know, the way you smile when your teacher asks for your book report that was assigned ages ago and you didn't do it, but you don't want her to know it (not that it's ever happened to me, but Sam uses it a lot). "Hey, Carly… Freddie." My name was said softer. I swallowed for what felt like the tenth time in the past hour. Which, I guess, I do regularly, because people swallow all the time, but... oh, you know what I mean.

"Hey, Sam," I said awkwardly. I heard Carly sigh softly.

"What are you doing here?" Sam continued after a moment, still smiling in the _Oh, crap _kind of way.

"Um, we just wanted to stop in and say hi, and… ask about your bunny?" Carly improvised. That was why Sam usually did the lying for us.

"He's fine," Sam said, rolling her eyes. Then we fell back into silence.

I needed something to do. Trying to avoid looking at Sam (because, if I did, I'd feel guilty), I wandered around her room, reaching out to examine some of the things.

"Jackson Colt statuette," I said appreciatively. "Nice." Sam nodded. "Um, rabbit food, pet snake. A ballet trophy?" I turned to look questioningly at Sam, too curious to not say anything.

"Melanie's," she explained quietly.

"Ah," I said, as if it made sense. Which it didn't, since I was still kind of blurry on the Melanie situation.

"Well," Carly said loudly. "I need to use the bathroom, so feel free to say anything that can't be said while I'm not here." She winked - for the record, Carly is an awful winker - and then hurried into a door that I hadn't noticed before.

Sam rolled her eyes and sat down on her bed. Too scared to stop, I continued looking at the stuff in her room.

I came to a beat-up old box sitting in the corner. Glancing at Sam, who wasn't really paying attention, I pulled open the lid.

"Whoa," I breathed, pulling out princess dresses and tutus and all sorts of costume. "I never knew you were such a girl, Sam." If the first word she says starts with a consonant, I told myself, I go on with the original plan. Kind of unfair statistics, but it worked for me.

To my complete shock, Sam blushed. "That was when I was younger." Since when was Sam the blush-type?

_That_ starts with a consonant. Taking a deep breath, I walked up to her. "Look, Sam, can we just talk about the kiss?"


	5. iSo Knew It

**Hey, I'm ba-ack! I'm wicked, wicked excited about this chapter! And that's all I'm saying, so read on! **

**P.S: Ok, I kind of lied. I'm also saying this: This isn't the last chapter.**

**SAM**

"Look, Sam, can we just talk about the kiss?" God, only Freddie would say that. And only Freddie would make me want to respond with a no.

I couldn't talk with him. Not so soon after it happened. I was still feeling raw after the first time. I couldn't be rejected twice. Not with him sitting in my room, with no where I can get away from him. Not with Carly, her ear pressed to the door in the bathroom, clinging onto every word. I needed an excuse, and needed one fast. "Yeah, the thing is, I'd love to, but I can't. I have…" My eyes darted around my room, and I said the first thing that popped into my head. "… ballet lessons."

_I can't talk to you, I have ballet lessons_. That annoying voice in my head mimicked. _The boy's messing up your talents, girl! Move on!_

"Ballet lessons!" Carly hissed incredulously from the bathroom. I stood up and grabbed Melanie's tutu from the dress-up box, and started walking towards the door.

"Since when do you have ballet lessons?" Freddie scoffed. I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth, and turned back around.

"Since when do you _care_ what I _do_?" I snapped at him, feeling a wave of relief that I was still able to be annoyed with him.

"Since when do you want to kiss me?" Freddie demanded, taking a step closer.

My eyes widened, and I froze. "Um…" For the life of me, I couldn't think of comeback. The voice in my head was right. I _wasn't_ me.

"Come on," Freddie said patiently, grabbing my hand and pulling me back towards the bed. He sat down, and patted the spot next to him. Reluctantly, I sat down next to him.

But I wasn't going to look at him. Picking up a pen from my dresser, I concentrated on clicking and unclicking the trigger at the top.

"Listen, Sam… I'm not sure if I feel the same way about you that you do about me," Freddie said, his tone the exact same it was last night. I think I might throw up. "I think I'd just rather stay friends. But, that doesn't mean some other guys won't. You're a really awesome person, Sam, and someday, someone -"

"Would you just shut up?" I groaned. I glanced at him for the first time, and he looked surprised, and maybe a little… relieved? "Look, I get it. I'm cool with it. I'm not going to go all suicidal on you guys. Don't start getting cocky; you're not that important." Right. He'll believe _that_. The one time it is desperately important to be a good liar, and I couldn't.

Life is so unfair that way.

**FREDDIE**

"Oh… well, okay." I shrugged, though I still felt troubled. I guess I just felt guilty, and I needed to say more or something. It makes sense. If I wanted to be literal, I'd probably say I kind of just broke her heart.

Sam sighed and continued clicking around on her pen, only I think she pressed too hard because the pen when flying onto the ground.

"I'll get it," I offered. It was the least I could do. I crouched down and grabbed the pen, and then I straightened back up -

Except that my head crashed into hers. "Sorry, I -" I glanced up, and the words choked and died in my throat. Her face was inches away from mine. I could feel her breathing.

I didn't know Sam's eyes were green.

She looked kind of panicked, like I was a guy with a gun and she was the deer, which made me pretty depressed. I would like to say that what happened next was just to make u[ for that, but that would be the biggest lie I ever told.

Because, I felt our roles reversed, and I moved my hand to the back of her neck, and I kissed her.

I don't why, but I just had to.

**SAM:**

He'd never really kissed me before.

I mean, yeah, we'd kissed before. Twice. But the first time, it was the first kiss for both of us, and we were scared and we really didn't know what to think of the other person. And the second time, I'd pretty much thrown myself at him. Our lips were touching, but we weren't kissing. Those were handshakes compared to this.

When our eyes met, I felt myself go totally frozen with fear. I assumed he'd just apologize or something and leave. And that would have been way too much to handle. Three rejections in one day. I would have been done for.

Except that, he didn't. I'd felt my breathing increase as his hand touched the back of my neck. His fingers brushed my hair. God, how many _times_ had I imagined this moment? Too many. So why did it feel so new and so strange.

No, I corrected myself, it wasn't my breathing that increased. It was my _heart_.

And then he kissed me.

Where did _Freddie Benson_ learn to kiss like _this_?

**FREDDIE:**

Was I in love?

No idea. I don't know the meaning of life or why my mom is a freak. I don't know how to know when I'm in love.

What I did know was limited to a small pool of knowledge while I kissed her. This pool included the following:

1: My name was Freddie Benson

2: I was a complete idiot for not kissing her back yesterday

3: _Her_ was Sam Puckett, and I was kissing her _now_.

That was basically it. But I didn't concentrate on that I suddenly knew nothing. I didn't care. I just kissed her.

**CARLY:**

"Would you just shut up?" Sam interrupted Freddie's apology. I bit my lip in frustration. I was hoping this would go smoother.

Actually, I'd been hoping this whole exchange would go in a whole other direction. In my perfect world, Freddie would forget his apology and confess his love, they'd kiss, date throughout high school, he proposes, I'm the wedding planner and the maid of honor, and they name their children Faith and Carly Jr.(which also makes FC, for fried chicken). Bada bing, bada boom, happily ever after.

I mean, the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Has Freddie ever liked any of Sam's boyfriends? No! Has Sam ever liked any of Freddie's girlfriends? No! If they only kissed to get it over with so no one would tease them anymore, how come they never told anyone? They do say opposites attract, and Freddie and Sam are as opposite as you can get. I was surprised that they already hadn't gotten together.

But, obviously, my perfect world didn't exist. Because Freddie, however, politely, was still rejecting Sam. I felt her pain like a knife, and kind of regretted bringing Freddie here so soon after the kiss. It must feel horrible to be rejected twice in five hours by the same guy. I just thought he'd take her. Why was he such a moron?

Freddie murmured something like "Oh, okay," and then they stopped talking. Something in the room was clicking constantly, and it was really annoying.

I heard what sounded like something small hitting the ground, and the clicking stopped. For the fiftieth time in the past five minutes, I prayed to become invisible, so I could watch instead of eavesdrop. "I'll get it," Freddie said. Wish I knew what it was. A few seconds later, I heard Sam mutter, "Ouch."

"Sorry, I -" Freddie started to apologize for something else, but stopped entirely. I strained my ears. I couldn't hear anything… except… were they _kissing_? I had to know! Hoping the bathroom door didn't squeak, I edged it open just enough for my head to stick out.

It did squeak, but Freddie and Sam didn't notice. They were locked in their own little world, kissing each other! It was the kind of kiss that people who direct romantic sob stories can only dream of. I smiled in delight, stepping out of the bathroom entirely. I knew it. I so totally _knew it_.

"Oh my God," I couldn't help whispering. Sam and Freddie broke apart, both of them blushing, both of them breathless. And Sam was smiling, a real smile this time. I never thought I'd see Sam on such a high because of _Freddie love_.

I, on the other hand, was high on that beautiful feeling of being right - the kind of feeling you get when you swear two people are getting together on a TV show, and they do. "Well, look who was right," I crowed triumphantly. "And now that you two are together - please, for my sake at the very least, don't have one of those on-and-off relationships, because those are so annoying - I can finally do this." I grinned smugly at Sam, who was having trouble not looking at Freddie. Then I began to sing-song, "_Sam loves Freddie_! _Sam loves Freddie_!"

"Carly!" Sam shrieked. She crawled across her bed, cupped a hand over my mouth, dragged me into the bathroom, and slammed the door.

"Dude!" She demanded. "What was that?" She was trying very hard not smile, I noted.

"I was taught never to lie," I told her solemnly.

Sam slowly smiled. "Thanks, Carly. A lot." It wasn't said sarcastically.

"Please, it was nothing. I think I almost benefited as much as you did," I joked. I still hugged her, though. "But you're welcome. A lot."


	6. iTick Off Gibby

**Hey, here's chapter 6! It's kind of long, and I'm not sure if it's my best, but you be the judge. Oh, also, if you're confused by the part in Gibby's point of view; I tried to make it what I thought Gibby would be thinking. So, yeah. Bon appetit (that is not spelled right, I don't think)!**

**GIBBY:**

Am I the only person who's ever noticed that poison oak isn't a poisoned oak tree? It's a shrub. Elephant. It makes no sense.

Juice box. It was the Friday after the lock-in, and I was meeting Freddie at his apartment. We were going to a Galaxy Wars convention. Worms. And it wasn't one of those stupid ones, where it's just sweaty guys dressed up like the people from Galaxy Wars. It's going to be the real people - I mean aliens. How sick is that! Ponies.

Just as I reached Freddie's apartment, my phone rang. Liquid soap. I frowned at the screen. It was Freddie. Milkshake. I pressed talk.

"'Yello, you've reached Gibby Gibson's phone, Gibby speaking," I said.

"Yeah, hi, Gibby," Freddie said, sounding distracted. "Listen, I'm going to have to miss the Galaxy Wars thing."

"Dude. That's not cool. What's more important than Galaxy Wars?" I demanded. Why did _everyone_ blow me off like this? Cheese sauce.

"Um…" In the background, I heard a very familiar laugh.

"Is that Sam?" I asked, even more confused. Magenta. Sam and Freddie were just as likely to hang out as zebras and tomatoes.

"Uh, yeah, she has…" There was some frantic whispering which I couldn't make out, and then Freddie cleared his throat. Alpaca. "Yeah, Sam has laughisitis. It means that her, uh, laugh box is, um, unhealthy and it needs to be exercised. Yeah, that's what happened."

"Oh, I had that in second grade. I almost had to -"

"Yeah, that's great, Gibby. Bye!" I heard a snicker, then the phone went dead. Leaf.

"That was rude," I mumbled aloud. "Cricket bricks!" I kicked the wall, getting mad. Freddie had been blowing me off all week. What was up with him? Pajamas.

Suddenly, Freddie's door opened. His mom was standing there, looking like she just fell off a cow. "I heard a thud."

Spaghetti pants. I nodded at his mom, grinning. "Sorry, Marissa, it's just me. Freddie blew me off again, so I kicked the wall in frustration."

Marissa sighed. "Oh, hello Gibby. For the last time, it's Mrs. Benson."

"Sorry," I shrugged. Yardstick.

Marissa seemed to realize something. "Freddie never blows anyone off. He's a very committed little boy. He missed his grandmother's funeral because he had already made plans. Where did you say he was?"

"Oh, Sam has laughisitis, and Freddie's helping her get rid of it. It sounds like a pretty serious case." Cerulean.

His mom looked ultra confused now. "I have the _Complete Medical Encyclopedia of Illnesses and Diseases _and no where did it say anything about laughisitis."

"So, he lied to me? He's been blowing me off all week! That jerk!" I growled, wanting to have something to throw at someone. Buckle. "I'm gonna go and -"

"Wait," Marissa suddenly said. "I have an idea." Gumbo.

"Does it involve honey mustard?" I asked.

"No, I don't let Freddie have mustard. It could get on his clothes. Why?" Texas.

"Oh, because I'm allergic to pollen," I explained.

Marissa stared at me for a second, then cleared her throat. "No, I was thinking - since Freddie doesn't allow me to come with him to social events anymore - you could gather intelligence secretly about Freddie's activities." Icicle.

"You mean to hula-hoop." Awesome. I love hula-hooping.

"No…. I mean _spy_," she whispered. Baby powder.

"Ah," I nodded, finally understanding. "I'd be glad to, Marissa."

Marissa took a deep breath. "… Just find out what Freddie's up to, and fast." Then she shut the door.

I nodded, taking it in. I was a spy. Armadillo. I could get a cool pair of shades and wear a tuxedo everywhere and no one would notice! And I could speak in code, and no one would notice since no one seems to get me anyway. Mustache.

Best. Day. _Ever_.

Jalapeno.

**CARLY:**

"Hey, Carly, I'm here," Sam yelled as she walked into my apartment. I swiveled around on the stools by the counter.

"Wow," I commented. "For the first time in four years I'm home before you."

Sam shrugged. "That's because I'm not ditching last period anymore."

"Because of a certain someone?" I asked, smiling. "Whose named starts with a _Fre_ and ends with a _dee_?"

"Maybe," Sam responded lightly. "Oh, speaking of him, I wanted to -"

"_Blaaaaaah_!" Something suddenly jumped out from the other side of the counter and started shrieking. I screamed. Then it started laughing.

"I got you," Spencer laughed. He reached out his hand and totally ruined my hair, but I was still too shell-shocked to do anything more than breathe like I just ran a marthon. "Would you say you were aghast?"

"Yes!" I finally managed to gasp. "You almost gave me a seizure!"

"Then it worked," Spencer said proudly.

"Why exactly were you trying to scare the pants off of Carly?" Sam asked as she headed into the kitchen.

"Because my totally hot librarian girlfriend Jenna gave me a list of vocab words I have to use in the next three days - one of them was aghast - and if I don't use them, she won't make out with me on our next date!" Spencer explained, slightly panicked. "And she is a very good kisser."

"That's real interesting," Sam called over her shoulder as she grabbed a piece of pizza from the fridge. "No, seriously. Keep talking."

"What does Freddie see in her?" I wondered aloud.

"_The world may never know_," Sam replied as she walked past, quoting the Pootsie Tops commercial. "Just kidding. It's pretty obvious what he sees me." She stuck her tongue out at me and sat down on the couch.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, _whoa_," Spencer suddenly said. "_What does Freddie see in her_? Are they, like, together?"

"As of exactly one week from tomorrow," I said smugly.

"Holy _cheesballs_!" I raised my eyebrows but chose not to comment on Spencer's strange choice of words. It was the librarian girlfriend thing, I suppose.

"Oh, that reminds me," Sam said, standing up. "If you were dating a guy for a week, are you, like... boyfriend and girlfriend yet?"

"This is too weird," Spencer breathed.

I ignored him, as usual. "Yes. Yes, you are. If he doesn't think you two are exclusive, it doesn't change your right to kick his soft spot if he cheats on you."

"_The Girl Handbook of Life_," Sam recalled, sitting down on the stool next to me.

"Oh, come on," Spencer interjected incredulously. "Everyone knows that the 'Girl Handbook' doesn't really exist. It's just something girls use to get dudes to look stupid, right?"

"Wrong," corrected Sam.

"They finally got to writing it down," I added.

"Really?" Spencer asked, surprised.

"_Anyway_," I turned back to Sam. "You two are obviously perfect for each other, and you've been hanging out - which is implying more than just hanging out - all week. So, he's your boyfriend. End of story."

"Okay," Sam nodded her head, though she still looked a little confused. "So, that would mean today's our one week anniversary, if you're counting from the lock-in. Do people celebrate that?"

I groaned. "Of course you do! And the one month, and the one year, and two year -"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Sam interrupted. "So, we should, like, go on a date?"

"Definitely," I said with conviction.

"Shoosh, yeah," Spencer agreeed, trying to look cool. We both stared at him. He sighed. "Look, I wanted to participate in the conversation."

"Hola, guys," Freddie's voice called as walked into my door. "What is up?"

"Well, hey, Mr. Freddie," Spencer called, running up to him. He winked obviously at Sam before turning back to a wary Freddie. "How was school?"

"Fine," Freddie said carelessly, starting to step around him.

"Would you say it's_ extra_ fine?" Spencer asked, clearly enjoying himself. "Because of a _certain_ someone? Hmmm?" Freddie, peering over Spencer's shoulder, mouthed, _What_?

"He just found out about you and Sam," I explained. Sam snickered.

"Ah," Freddie nodded before turning back to Spencer. "Well, yes. It was extra fine. Are you happy now?"

"_Congenial_, which also happens to be one of my vocab words. I have to go check it off!" Spencer dashed into his room.

As soon as Spencer was gone, I nudged Sam. She nodded and opened her mouth to speak, but Freddie beat her to it. "Oh, Sam? Today's our one week anniversary."

Sam smiled and nudged me back. "Yeah, I know. Do you want to go on a date or something?" I jumped off my stool and headed into the kitchen, crossing my fingers. Freddie, just as I had hoped, sat down beside Sam. Aw.

"Yeah, I'd love to -" Freddie suddenly seemed to deflate. "But I told Gibby a while ago that I'd go to a Galaxy Wars convention with him."

"Oh," Sam mumbled.

"Yeah, I know," Freddie muttered. "But you come with us, if you wanted," he added, perking up a bit.

Sam gave him a withering look. "Look, Benson, if we're going to make this thing work, you have to understand something: I'm not going to pretend to like what you like, kay?"

"Yeah, I figured." Freddie didn't look surprised.

I couldn't stand it anymore. Placing the jug of Wahoo Punch on the table, I hurried up the counter. "Look, Gibby's sweet and all, but isn't your one-week anniversary more important than chasing after Nug-nug with a bunch of sweaty thirty-year-olds?"

"She does have a point," Sam pointed out.

Freddie glared at us both, but he didn't disagree with us. "I suppose you're right," he admitted. "I'll just call him and let him know I have other plans."

"But don't tell him we're dating," Sam said quickly.

"Yeah, Gibby can't keep a secret to save his butt. What if he blurts it out on iCarly?" Earlier, we'd all decided that it would be the overall safety of everyone involved if we just didn't tell the iCarly viewers about the whole Sam and Freddie thing, because all the Seddie fans would go nuts and all the Creddie fans would probably murder Sam in her sleep and slap Freddie senseless.

While Freddie dialed Gibby's number on his phone, Sam opened up ZapLook on the computer. "Carls, do you know any good restaurants?" She asked.

"Oh, try The Plump Cow," I suggested. "Wendy says it's good." She typed it in and clicked on the website. Freddie leaned over her shoulder, pointing out things on the site for her to click on.

"Yeah, hi, Gibby," Freddie said after a few seconds into his phone. I could tell he wasn't really paying attention. "Listen, I'm going to have to miss the Galaxy Wars thing." I could just make out a very angry reply. "Um..."

Sam laughed at something on the website. Freddie clamped a hand over her mouth frantically. "Uh, yeah, she has..." He glanced at us both wildly. _What do I say?_ he hissed. Rolling her eyes, Sam pulled his hand off of her mouth and whispered something into his ear.

Freddie gave her an _Are you insane?_ face, but didn't hesitate. "Yeah, Sam has laughisitis. It means that her, uh, laugh box is, um, unhealthy and it needs to be exercised. Yeah, that's what happened... Yeah, that's great, Gibby. Bye!" Quickly he pressed the end button on his phone - with attitude, I noted.

"Laughisitis?" Freddie demanded.

"I was only going for a Gibby standard excuse," Sam said defensively. "Anyway, this place has lowfat water on the menu. We aren't going here."

"Um... okay, what about Violetti?" Freddie said after a moment. "I've heard it's really good."

"Oh my God, it is," I said enthusiastically. "The food is amazing. They've got these steaks imported from Germany, and -"

"I'm in," Sam said. Classic Sam.

"Okay, but there's a dress code..." I warned her.

"I'm still in," Sam said, unfazed.

"It's fine with me," Freddie shrugged. I saw him, very slyly, grab her hand and hold it. Sam flushed just the tiniest bit.

Love was so entertaining in other people.


	7. iAm Calling The Cops On Your Mom

**Heyy, this is chapter seven, right (believe it or not, I get an A in math...)? Anyway, I think this is my favorite chapters so far, mostly because it was so fun to write. I hope it's just as fun for you to read. If you like, let me know, if you don't, let me know. So much thanks to all you people who gave me feedback, and special thanks to the people who elaborated on the 'omg so good write more!' kind of thing. Not that it's bad if you wrote that, but someone who writes a lot gives you the impression they're really trying to help you.**

**But if you are awkward about your feelings for works of literature (haha), don't worry. I won't judge. Feedback is feedback, after all!**

**SAM:**

I stared at my closet doors and swallowed. I'd been wrong about a lot of things lately, but this one was probably the thing I was most surprised about (that, and falling head over heels for Freddie Benson). I took a deep breath, opened my closet doors, and stepped inside. One of the advantages of having a twin is that you get a walk-in closet. I walked past all of my stuff…

… into what I liked to call "Melanie's House of Horrors". My sister, being the 'polite' type, had been invited to numerous formal occasions. The twenty-seven pretty, sparkly dresses that filled the back of our closet were her trophies.

I just never expected I'd actually ever wear them. You know, me being me.

I fingered the dresses as I walked along the rack, looking for one that caught my eye. That was kind of hard, though, since they all blended into one giant mass of sparkles and glitter. It was blinding and incredibly frustrating.

Ten minutes later, and I still hadn't come anywhere near to finding a dress. Turns out, Melanie has added to her collection since I last counted. I glanced at my watch. Freddie was picking me up in half an hour, and I was still wearing a tank-top and jeans with my hair in the saddest looking pony-tail I'd ever seen. I was toast.

As if I needed more to distract me, the doorbell rang. I groaned. "What now?" Running to the front door, I threw it open, expecting to see one of my mom's ex-boyfriends -

- and instead, I saw Freddie, standing there in the rain with a tie around his neck and a startled expression on his face. Before I could even react, he literally threw himself at me, slamming the door shut with his foot and sending both of us tumbling to the ground.

"Have you lost your -" I started to say, but Freddie, for the second time in a day, threw his hand over my mouth. I gritted my teeth, but stopped myself from biting him.

A few seconds later, he gingerly lifted his hand from my mouth. "What's your problem?" I hissed, feeling like I should whisper. "You weren't supposed to be here for -"

"My mom's here," he interrupted me urgently.

I think my jaw dropped. I fumbled for something to say, but all I could think of was, "_What_?" This was it. I literally was dead. I full expected Mrs. Benson to come charging in through my door with a chainsaw and hand sanitizer.

Along with deciding not to mention us dating on iCarly, we'd also agreed on not telling Mrs. Benson. I mean, let's face it, his mom is certifiably insane. If she found out Sam Puckett - with an extensive record of juvie, detention, and violence - was dating her son, she might very literally kill us. Kind of like Romeo and Juliet, except that there is no way I'm going to kill myself over a _guy_ (it's pathetic and undignifying) and that Romeo and Juliet's problem was a walk in the park compared to ours.

"I was getting ready for tonight, and my mom barges into my room and starts asking where I'm going, and I said I was going on a date -"

"You said _what_?" I shrieked, sitting up.

"Shhhh-shush-shh!" Freddie shushed me frantically as he sat up, his eyes flickering towards the front door like my mom after a break-up. When he was certain I would be silent, he breathed, "She has ears like a… like, I don't know, an elephant."

"Why is she _here_?" I whispered frantically.

"She followed me! She started getting all motherly and asking all these questions, so I told her I had to go and I took the car and she caught a bus. I parked in the woods a block away, and I ran here, but she got the bus driver to drive around the street twice and now she's stopping at every house, demanding if I'm here."

"Holy crap," I moaned. "Holy crap, we're dead!" I was so worried, I didn't even let myself get distracted by the fact that Freddie drove here (he was the only one of us who had his license so far, but he almost never drove anywhere because it practically gave his mom a heart attack). For him, it was very bad boy.

"She's like ten houses away," Freddie told me, getting more and more panicked by the second. "We have maybe ten minutes, fifteen tops."

I needed to think of a plan. I was good at winging it, right? Now was my chance to prove myself. I pinched the bridge off my nose and closed my eyes. "Okay… um, what time is it?" That was a stupid question, I have a watch. But Freddie didn't notice this, and he pulled out his phone.

"Six-eleven," he told me. And then I thought an even more horrible than the ones that had been rushing through my head in the past minute.

"Freddie," I said slowly. "Didn't you tell me your mom had one of those ultra fancy GPS things implanted into your phone?"

His brown eyes widened. "She's gonna think of that soon. We're screwed. Oh, man, oh man." He put his hand on his forehead, running it through his hair, and starting breathing like a maniac.

I took a deep breath. He was obviously going to be useless. I snatched the phone from his hand, stood up, and hurried into the kitchen. Freddie followed me worriedly. Putting the phone on the counter, I stretched onto my tip-toes and pulled open the cabinet. The box, labeled _GPS Stuff_, was there, thank God.

"What are you doing?" Freddie asked as I pulled down the box and lifted off the lid. I pulled out a pair of tweezers and an extremely thin knife. Gently, I lifted the back off of his phone (it was hard, considering it was a PearPhone, but I have experience) and pulled out a tiny bit of electronical gunk. I then carefully put the back on his phone, gave the phone back to Freddie, and dropping the piece of phone into the garbage disposal. All I had to do then was turn on the garbage disposal and slide the box back onto the shelf. Perfect.

Freddie was staring at me. "What -"

"No time," I cut him off. "Follow me." I took his hand, grabbed an umbrella from the hat rack, and pulled him out the back door. We ran like crazy through the rain, hopping over my rotting fence and not stopping until we reached the edge of the woods behind my yard. I wrestled with the umbrella for a second before I wrenched it open, and then we stood there, panting like dogs.

"What did you do to my phone?" Freddie asked after a minute.

"I took out the GPS." Seeing his face, I continued, "When the cops put one of those in your phone, you learn things."

Freddie smiled, but it faded away a second later. "Look." He pointed at a bus driving slowly from my next-door neighbor's home to mine.

I sighed. "Would you stop worrying? It'll be fine, I've done this a million times." To make him laugh, I tugged on his tie and added, "I like your tie. Very fancy."

He smirked. "Thanks." Glancing at what I was wearing, he raised an eyebrow. "You're not planning on wearing _that_, are you?"

"And you wonder why you've never had a girlfriend before," I teased, but for once without an edge. "No, Benson, I was in the middle of getting ready when you barged in."

"Oh. Well, sorry."

"It's okay."

"Hey, did you call Carly yet?"

"Oh shoot, no. Can you?"

"Yeah, sure. I'll call when we get back inside. The rain would make it impossible to -"

"Freddie, I don't do details about anything other than my business and other people's."

Freddie, smiling, nodded seriously and saluted me. "Sure thing, Miss Puckett."

We fell back into comfortable silence as we waited for Mrs. Benson to leave my house. Vaugely, I wondered how many girls have stood out in the rain with their boyfriend and an umbrella, waiting for his pyscotic mother to leave her house once she realizes she doesn't have a search warrant so she can't barge in and murder the girl. Probably very few.

Then again, what did I know? I was failing math.

Just as we saw the bus start to pull away, Freddie said, "You know, if I wasn't so scared that my mom was going to get out a tazer and start chasing us around, I'd say this is kind of cool. You know, romantic." He sounded like he was blushing. How Freddie.

I tried to bite back a smile, but I ultimately failed. "The only reason they say that is that if a guy kisses a girl when it's pouring out and he's got the umbrella, she's stuck. If the girl had the umbrella… things would go differently."

"So, if you had the umbrella, what would you do if I tried to kiss you?" He asked, turning towards me and smiling mischievously.

"Well, for starters, I'd -" But then he kissed me. I might have slightly lost my train of thought.

When we stopped, he grinned triumphantly at me. "Too late." I gave him a little shove, but I couldn't shake the smile off my face. Plus, if I pushed him too hard, he'd drop the umbrella, and I'd get all wet. Darn Freddie.

Don't tell anyone I said this, but kissing in the rain is one of most beautiful things in the world.

Well, besides ham.


	8. iAm A Third Wheel With A Gibby

**Hey, I'm back with chapter eight! The first part of this chapter is one of my favorite conversations so far, so I hope you like it!**

**Oh, also: I've had a comment about what I'm going to do when I run out of scenes from the promo. Well, I'd just like to let you know that it's going to go past the promo, and parts of it don't exactly fall into line with the promo. I sort of took the idea and ran with it. But it could still work as an iCarly episode, so don't worry. :D**

**CARLY**

I'd known all along that Sam and Freddie's relationship was bizarre. It literally changed overnight from giving each other Texas wedgies (well, only one person was actually giving the wedgies to the other and we all know who _that_ is) to sneaking kisses when they thought no one was looking.

But this was over the top.

"So, let me get this straight," I said, cradling the phone between my head and shoulder. "You want _me_, to come with _you_, on your one-week anniversary date with _Sam_."

"Well, when you say it like that it doesn't sound as logical," Freddie admitted.

"Doesn't that seem a little weird?" I pointed out, trying to be tactful. I glanced at the homework in front of me. Looks like I wasn't getting _that_ done tonight. "Like, not that I think you're sleazy, but why bring your former crush on your date with your new… crush?" I almost said his new love, but if I tried to rush this, they'd both panic.

But I _really_ wanted to rush it.

"I have a good reason. Both Sam and I need you to come. And besides, if I was going to cheat on Sam - which I'm not - it would definitely not be with you. That'd be horrible. No offense or anything, but you know what I'm saying, right?"

"Saying _no offense _doesn't making it any less offensive, you know," I said.

"Well, it's better than _not_ saying it. But sorry."

"Why do you even want me to come?" I demanded, rolling over on my bed.

"Look, it's hard to explain. Just trust me, all right? I'll tell you when you get there -" There was a lot of movement and something sounding suspiciously close to the phone being dropped, then I heard Freddie's voice saying, "Oh my God. Sam, you look… amazing." Sam must've said something, because there was a pause, Freddie then said, "Yeah, we'll leave in five minutes…. Wow."

"I know you're drooling over there, Freddie. Stop it!"

"I wasn't drooling," Freddie said.

"Yeah, _that's_ debatable. Where are you, anyway?"

"I'm at Sam's house. There was a scene with my mom and a bus - it almost got ugly. I had to lose my mom, and Sam's was the only safe place. She wasn't ready for the date, though, so I've been waiting for her. Now all we need is you…"

"Fine!" I threw my hands up in the air, even though he wasn't there to see it. "I'll be there."

"Great! You've got a reservation under Shay. Don't forget the dress code."

"I was the one who _told_ you about the dress code!" I said a little louder than necessary before hanging up the phone. I rubbed my temples before hoping off my bed and over to my closet. I had a dress that I'd worn to last year's semi-formal that would work. I just needed transportation.

"Spencer!" I yelled towards the direction of my door. "I need you to drive me somewhere."

Spencer came running up the stairs and flung open the door. "You mean you need me to _mobilize_ you somewhere?"

"Yeah, whatever." Pressing the keypad on my closet, I opened the doors and stepped inside. "Can you?"

"All right," Spencer said. Without asking where or why, he turned and walked back down the stairs. I could have asked him to go shoplifting and he probably wouldn't have cared.

I know I said something different to Granddad, but sometimes I question Dad's judgment in leaving me with him.

* * *

><p>I tapped my foot impatiently on the floor of the car as we drove agonizingly slow through the parking lot of Violetti. The place was packed. If I wasn't both so curious and wary about Freddie practically begging me to come on his date with Sam, I'd be extremely annoyed about the crowdedness. Oh, wait - I was annoyed anyway.<p>

"Just stop here, and I'll jump out," I said finally, after what seemed like forever of looking for a spot. When I checked the clock in the car though, it had only been three minutes.

"All righty… uh, have fun," Spencer said distractedly.

I nudged him. "Do you have a date with _Jenna_?"

"All my vocab words are checked off," he grinned. "Now, _vamoose_, I'm gonna be late." He then all but pushed me out of the car and sped off like a maniac. I rolled my eyes before running across the parking lot and into the restaurant.

"Hello, welcome to Violetti!" The perky blonde hostess chirped as soon as I walked in. "We have about an hour long wait, so would you like to take a seat?"

"I have a reservation under Shay," I told her.

She nodded and scurried over to the podium where she greeted everyone from - you know, the hostess table… thingy (does it even have an exact name?). She glanced at the computer, and then quickly looked me over before saying, "You're Oliver Shay?"

Obviously a college drop-out. I smiled sweetly at her. "Carlotta Shay, actually."

"Oh!" She glanced at computer screen again. "Oh, I see you now. Right this way, please."

The hostess led me to a small table for two by the window, but neither Sam nor Freddie were there. Weird. Just as I was about to ask if anyone else was sitting at the table, she skipped away. And then I noticed two people sitting at the booth, and they both looked _just_ like Sam and Freddie. Coincidence?

Please. Let's not be stupid.

I didn't want to draw attention to myself, but I couldn't help stomping over and putting my hands on the table. "Hey, guys," I said, laughing a very fake laugh, then hissed, "What's going on?"

Freddie looked up from his menu, pleasantly surprised. "Oh, good. Carly made it."

"Hey, Carls, nice dress," Sam said, in her _I-know-what's-going-on-but-there's-absolutely-no-way-you'll-get-a-word-from-me _tone. Although I still did appreciate the compliment.

"If you wanted me to come to your date, why am I sitting alone like a loser?" I complained. "And why did I need to come on your date in the first place?"

Sam exchanged a look with Freddie, stood up, and pulled me back over to my sad little table. Looking fugitively around, she asked, "You know me and Freddie used to fight?"

"_Really_?" I said sarcastically.

"Well, when we were hanging out, it was very hard for us to, you know, not beat each other up - well that _was_ mostly me, but you get the picture. It's just instinct, I guess. And we thought, if we were going out to dinner, where there were steaks, and people, and where I'd already be annoyed because I don't like pretty dresses and I hate waiting and -" She took a deep breath. "Anyway, we thought it'd be best if we had a… um, a peacemaker with us."

Not only was the idea shocking, but the fact that Sam had said _we _and _us _six times in a row without flinching made it utterly bewildering. Plus, Sam was wearing this gorgeous deep purple dress that made me jealous of her, for basically the first time in my life. It was a lot to take in.

I gaped at her. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

"Because you wouldn't have come," she pointed out. "Now, sit down before you make a scene and get thrown out." People were watching us. Reluctantly, I sat down in my chair. Sam grinned and scampered back to her booth, where she quickly picked up her conversation with Freddie.

Unbelievable. "So I'm just supposed to sit here and wait for you guys to have an argument so I can break it up?" I called, trying for one last time to get out of this.

Sam and Freddie both glanced at me for the briefest second. "Pretty much," Sam said.

"We'd really appreciate it," Freddie agreed. Then they turned back to whatever they were doing. Probably making goo-ga faces at one another. Jerks.

I sighed and started tapping my fingers on the table, annoyed. A small part of me wanted Sam do something stupid so the date would end and I could leave, but that part was quickly overruled by the others. _Sam and Freddie belong together_, my brain protested. And, I had to admit, it was kind of true.

As I sat there, waiting impatiently for my waiter to hurry up and come over, I heard someone say, "Hey, Carly. Did your date walk out on you?" Standing next to my table was Gibby in lobster sunglasses and a hula skirt.

"Um, hi Gibby… what are you wearing?" I asked. People were already whispering about him. Probably a new record.

"This is my spy outfit," Gibby said proudly, then his face turned bright red. "I mean, I'm pretending to be a spy… for National Spy Day. Yeah, it's today."

"That's great," I muttered, not really caring.

Gibby glanced around. "Hey, what are Sam and Freddie doing?"

Oh, crap. "What are you talking about? Sam and Freddie aren't here.. and if they were, they definitely would not be together." Nice one, Shay.

"No, they're right there," Gibby insisted. "I just got my eyesight tested last week!"

_Think_, I thought desperately. _The entire fate of Sam and Freddie's relationship rests in your hands_. "Um… all right, I'll tell you. They're… uh, well, they're… filming a new segment for iCarly!" Nice one, Shay!

"Really?" Gibby asked, taking off his sunglasses. "And, what is this supposed segment called, Carly? Are you even _Carly_?"

What was _up_ with Gibby? "Um, yeah.. it's me, Gibby. Well, it's called… How Fast Can Sam Get Kicked Out of a Restaurant. Yeah, she's been here for almost five minutes now."

"Uhuh," Gibby said thoughtfully, staring at me. "And you expect me to believe that? You think you can dupe the Gibman? Well? _Do you_?"

"Yes?" I tried, crossing my fingers

"Fine," Gibby said suddenly. "But I get to take some pictures. In case I need to black-mail you."

I cringed, but I was all out of lies, and if it did wind up on the Internet, we could always pass it off as a Photoshop or say it was for iCarly. Yeah, that would work.

Hopefully.


	9. iLost My Mind Sort Of

**Omigosh I finally finished! I'm so sorry it took so long. It really shouldn't have. I was just distracted by summer vacation and strep and rain in my house, so yeah... don't ask. Anyway, here you go! It's pretty long, and I don't think it's my best peice of work, but none of you really care what I think, right? Right. Enjoy!**

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><p><strong>SAM:<strong>

Early on a Saturday morning (well, eleven o'clock, anyway - it was early for my 'family'), my mom's beaten up old Toyota drove into the parking lot of the Sanctuary at Rutledge-Swanson. On the website, it had labeled itself as a 'safe environment for the recovery of the emotionally scarred', but any idiot knew what that meant. It was a sugar-coated insane asylum.

To prove my point, the man behind the front desk told us that if we were carrying anything sharp or possibly dangerous, we were advised not to go to the fourth floor. If we did, both the Sanctuary at Rutledge-Swanson and it's patients could not be held liable for any injuries received there.

"That's it," I said, feeling queasy. "I'm out. Let's go, Mom."

My mom glared at me. "Relax, kid. What's your problem?"

I glanced around the waiting room, where dozens of patients were hogging the seats and playing bingo. All too aware that we were standing in a room full of mentally fragile crazies, I bit back my loud and sarcastic comeback. It was useless arguing with her, anyway.

"We're here to see Alyssa Puckett," Mom told the man. He was awkwardly tall, balding, was constantly shaking, and had a gold tooth, but she batted her eyelashes at him anyway. She has no standards.

He turned lobster red, stammered something unintelligible, and checked his computer. "She's in room 804." He frowned at me. "You look really familiar -"

"That's great," I cut him off, not really caring. "Do we need a visitor's pass or something?"

He blinked. "Sorry. Yeah, sure. Here you go." He handed us two scratched, poop brown colored plastic passes. "Enjoy your day." Fat chance of that. This had been horrible ever since last night, when my mother told me we were visiting my psychotic cousin who has been spending the last three years in a mental hospital.

I'd always hated cousin Alyssa. She was the same age as me, which made our parents think we'd be best friends. They were wrong. Ever since we were little, we always looked exactly the same - which meant that she was a genetic freak, among other freaky parts of her. At my seventh birthday party, Alyssa had pushed me down a well. Christmas at her ranch, when I was eight years old, she'd locked me into a stall with a pregnant horse. I almost got crushed when it tried to sit on me. My mom and my Aunt Polly, Alyssa's mom, had always assumed I was lying about Alyssa until I ran out of the stall with a broken arm.

Nothing happened to Alyssa even then. That is, until she was thirteen, when Uncle Flynn caught her running after my then sixteen year old cousin Emmett with a steak knife. She's been in the loony hut ever since.

"Are you insane?" I spluttered when my mom told me. "She'll throw me off a cliff and burn my remains."

"Aw, c'mon, didn't you win some big fight or something?" Mom had responded, never taking her eyes away from the TV.

"Yeah, but I wasn't locked in a padded room with the guy, where no one can hear me slowly and painfully dying," I had insisted desperately. Maybe I was being melodramatic, but I had nightmares about Alyssa whipping me with her pet snake Harvard until I was twelve. There was no way I was going to go frolic around in her little wacky town and make nice with her.

"Aunt Polly says she feels really bad about what happened," Mom said, not really caring. "She wants to apologize."

"I don't know if you've noticed, but Aunt Polly is slow," I pointed out. "She didn't realize until she was married to Uncle Dawson that her new name was Polly Puckett. I bet you ten bucks that she's spent some time at that 'mental hospital'."

"I'm not making that bet, I know for a fact you're right."

"I'm not going." I then started to leave, but Mom had stood up and grabbed my arm.

"Look, Polly promised to hook me up with Alyssa's hunky therapist, so we're going," she said determinedly. Her cigarette was hanging out of her mouth and it made me want to puke out my intestines. "Besides, the crap I deal with is worse than the crap you deal with, so if you want your crap to not get any crappier and my crap to get better, we're going." She then blew a puff of smoke into the air and stomped away into my room.

I coughed. "That doesn't even make any sense!" I'd yelled after her for my one last chance at saving myself. It failed, of course.

Things just got worse from then on. Turns out, room 804 was actually on the fourth floor, for some reason I did not care about. Which meant that, when the elevator stopped, the woman asked us to hand over any sharp and pointy objects. Gee, that made me feel better.

Nothing was really interesting about room 804 - that is, nothing on the outside. No bars, no lasers, no moat filled with sharks or whatever. It was a boring wooden door that I could break with three of my fingers. But on the inside, I knew some hideous blonde maniac was crouched in the corner, waiting to jump out and beat me with a banana (she actually did that to me when I was six).

I gulped, and was about to open it, when this huge nurse came barreling out of nowhere, slammed into me and knocked me to the floor.

I was embarrassed. Sure, she was six times my size, and it was, like, eleven in the morning on a Saturday (which is the crack of dawn in my world), but I was Sam Puckett. I should be able to take her.

"We have a code 709, I repeat, a code 709!" she screamed into her watch while she pinned me down. "The bowling ball is in the gutter!"

A ginger Albert Einstein sighed as he walked by. "Tessa, no one read the codebook that you passed out last year," he said in a monotone voice. "No one cares."

"Shut up!" She yelled at him. "Can't you see I'm stopping Alyssa Puckett from running away?"

"Actually," I gasped, since she was crushing my lungs. "I'm Sam Puckett. Alyssa's my cousin. Now, get off of me before I cut off your head and feed it to my rabid cat."

The woman widened her eyes, jumped up, and then bolted down the hall. The ginger just rolled his eyes and kept walking.

My mom blinked, her eyes focusing again. "Kid, why are on the floor? Don't you know it's covered in the tears of lunatics?"

"Thanks for that image, Mom," I muttered as I got up. I quickly dusted off my rumpled shirt, and slid my visitor's pass into the lock. It beeped once, and then the door was unlocked. Taking a deep breath, I stepped inside - _to meet my murderer_, a sulky part of me thought.

Inside, it wasn't as terrifying as I thought. It was a light green colored room, with a white bed off to the side. Lying on the bed was a girl who could've passed as me and Melanie's identical triplet. She was staring at a flat screen TV, but when she saw us, she turned off and jumped up.

"Omigosh, Sam!" Alyssa squealed. She ran up to me, hugging me and jumping up and down at the same time. I just smiled awkwardly and thought of as many means of her death right then as I could.

"And, Aunt Pam, you look great," she said, turning to my mom. Mom grinned, flattered.

"Sam, I am so sorry about what I did to you," Alyssa said, though it sounded phony to me. "I hated you back then, because you were so pretty, and tough, and I -"

"It's fine," I grumbled, cutting her off.

"Well, since you two have hit it off so well, I'm going to go speak with Alyssa's therapist," Mom said, extracting herself from my moment of need, as always. "You two play nice!"

"Will do!" Alyssa said brightly.

"No promises," I said softly. As soon as the door shut, I marched up to her, fists clenched.

She saw my hands, and frowned. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, can it, you _psycho_. We all know you got me here so you could try to kill me, but let me tell you it's not happening. And I -"

"Sam, calm down," Alyssa interrupted me, laughing nervously. "I know I was totally witchy before, but being locked in a mental hospital for four years changes you. I really feel bad about it, I swear. And I'm so lonely. Everyone here is over forty or seriously crazy. I was hoping we could be friends?"

"Yeah, and I was hoping for Fr - a dude to swoop in on a vine and save me from a fiery death, but it looks like it's not happening." That was actually my dream last night. In the end, he dropped me and I landed in an empty hot tub. Figures.

"I'm serious," she insisted. "Please give me a chance?"

I hesitated, feeling like Freddie must have felt when I kissed him - shocked that the person who tortured him was playing nice (although I had been playing just a bit nicer than Alyssa was, if you know what I mean). I didn't really trust Alyssa, but then again, almost everyone sounded phony to me. I was a cynic. Besides, if being her friend for half an hour got me out of this alive, what choice did I have?

"All right," I said eventually. "We're cool."

Alyssa grinned. "Awesome. And, to prove to you I haven't totally lost it, I have a gift!" She hurried over to the closet, where she pulled out a sweater and tank-top exactly like the one she was wearing. "Ta-da!"

I had to admit, it was really cute. A little on the girly side, but cute. "Thanks."

"Can you try it on right now to make sure it fits?" She asked. "There's a bathroom right there." She pointed to a white door by her bed.

After changing into the tank-top and sweater (which took longer than usual, since I checked the entire bathroom for security cameras before I changed), I walked back into Alyssa's room, where she was sprawled out on her bed, playing with my phone.

"Hey -" I started to say.

"Don't worry, I was just adding my number."

"You're allowed to use your phone?" I asked, confused. I'd figured that people in mental hospitals don't get access to the outside world.

"Hey, is that a Cuttlefish sweatshirt?" Alyssa asked, suddenly changing the subject. She ran up to me, and lifted my sweatshirt out of my hands. "I love Cuttlefish. Can I try it on?"

_This is a life or death situation, Sam, _I reminded myself, taking a deep breath. "Sure," I said, with forced cheerfulness. "Knock yourself out." I held back from adding _literally_.

Alyssa pulled the sweatshirt on over head, and surveyed herself critically in the small wall mirror. "Wow. I look just like you."

"You do," I admitted. "We could pass for twins."

She smiled at me, and I suddenly got a bad feeling in my stomach. "Excellent," she smirked. Then, before I could react, she snatched my visitors pass from around my neck and picked up my phone from my bed, and walked towards the door.

"Um, where are you going?" I asked, feeling my Alyssa nightmares rushing back. "You can't leave."

"No, you can't leave," she said, looking through my phone. "Sam Puckett can."

I then realized what she was going to do. "Oh my God, you set this whole thing up just so you could get out of here!" I said, horrified. "You look like me, so my mom will think you're me and I'm you, and I'll be stuck here!"

"You're just figuring that out?" she snickered. Then she got serious. She took a step towards me in a very menacing way. "Listen, I've been here for four years. I did my time. It's time you do yours."

"My mom is going to know it isn't me," I pointed out hopefully, knowing that even as I said it that it was a lie.

Alyssa laughed. "Please. I have been the star of twenty six productions, and I watch iCarly every week. I have this one in the bag. Besides, your mom is a Puckett. She doesn't care."

Suddenly the door opened. My mom appeared, drinking from a coffee cup. "If you drop a coffee into a dumpster, is it still drinkable? Oh, I don't care. C'mon, Sam, Alyssa's therapist was busy." To my horror, she grabbed Alyssa's wrist and started to pull her out the door.

"Mom!" I said quickly. "I'm Sam!"

She stared at me. "No, I'm 75% sure that you're Alyssa. Bye. Tell Aunt Polly that I want my Instaboobs back." She hurried out the door before I could say anything else.

Alyssa stuck her tongue out at me. "Bye, Alyssa." Then she walked out the door, slamming it.

I ran to the door. "Hey! Someone! Alyssa's escaping. The bowling ball's in the gutter! Hey! I'm trapped in here, someone help!"

To my intense relief, the door opened. The ginger with the bad haircut appeared. "We've been through this. You are Alyssa, not Sam Puckett. Do I need to give you a shot again?" Then he swung the door shut. I heard some whispering, and then that huge woman who tackled me screeched, "The cheese steak is medium rare!" But that was it.

I'd forgotten how clever Alyssa was. She had obviously been telling all the maniac handlers that she was me for a long time, so none of them would believe me. Smart.

But Alyssa had forgotten that I had been the strongest person in my class since second grade. I balled up my fist, and punched the door, only to regret it when I found out that it was really an iron door painted to look like wood.

"Dang it," I hissed, then yelled a few other words that really shouldn't be repeated. _This is what happens when I try to be nice to people_, I thought, making a mental note to tell this to Carly when and if I see her again. _I get locked in an insane assylum where everyone thinks my name is Alyssa._

I kicked the door a couple more times, but all I did was stub my toe. Great. It looks like I was going to have to rely on help from the outside world.

I just hope it wasn't going to be Freddie. He's terrible at rescuing people. Especially when he has a vine.

**Note: I'm very proud to say that this story alone has been visited by 1.07K people. I'm not sure what 'K' means, but I think it's a big numebr! And that's just from the United States! It has gotten hits from places like Malta, Switzerland, Jordan, Egypt, Hong Kong, Afganistan, Lebanon, and Bulgaria! Not sure where half those places are, but I still think it's cool. There's even been 46 visits from Australia (my native country - haha, that sounds so cool)! **


	10. iOperation Save Sam

**Hey, back with chapter ten. Whoa, double digits! Things are progressing really slowly, but they'll get there. Don't worry. **

**In case you didn't notice, chapter nine was partially based off the series Pretty Little Liars (if you don't know what I'm talking about, you obviously haven't read the eighth book yet). For some reason, the drama in it is hilarious, mainly because the author makes everyone seem super guilty until the end when she just discards everything they learned before and start out on blaming some other random person in the next book. Hehe. **

**Also, just letting you know. This isn't going to end after I finish the promo. I still have two more potential episodes I want to predict, and then a few more I came up without any prompting. It's kind of like what happens next in the series - so, no OOC! However **SPOILER ALERT** there will be a scene where Freddie makes a very predictable anouncement, and Sam either finds it a mutual feeling or tells him he's wrong. I haven't decided yet... so beware for drama in the distant future!**

**Finally: I went to the traffic page and did a little research. Of the near 2000 people who have visited this story, only 12% of them have read to the end. So, a warm thank you to anyone who has read the entire story so far!**

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><p><strong>FREDDIE:<strong>

I hated to admit it, but I was worried. Not that I should be or anything. Sam definitely had other things to do than watch her phone and wait for me to text her so she could text me back. But she still usually answered my texts in an hour or so. It was three now, and the last time I'd heard from her was around ten. All she had said then was 'need fried chicken - got any?' Like that helped.

Sighing, I grabbed my phone (the last thing I needed was for my mom to read my text messages _again_) and left my apartment. I needed to shoot some footage of Carly and Sam for a bit where they ride on tiny computer-generated chinchillas around the studio.

"I'm coming in," I called as I opened the door. Carly was on the phone and pacing worriedly around the couch. After a few moments, she sighed and hung up.

"Something's up with Sam," she said unhappily. "We were supposed to meet for lunch but she never showed up, and now she won't text me and she's late for the iCarly stuff. Something's wrong."

"Sam's always late," I pointed out, but not really comforting anyone, which included me. I grabbed a chip from the table. "Hey, are these salt and vinegar chips? I love those!"

"Freddie!"

"Sorry." I dropped the chip quickly.

"Yeah, Sam's always late, but we have leftover ribs from last night, and Sam knows it. She wouldn't be late if she could help it." She started to pace faster. "Plus she always texts back, so I don't know why -"

"Maybe she got stuck doing something. Maybe her phone died. She could be coming up the elevator right now, and we just don't know it. She -"

"Would you be quiet, Freddie!" Carly burst out, running her hands through her hair. "I'm just trying to have a decent freak out and your ruining it!" I made a face but didn't comment. Carly, with all here snippets on how normal she seemed compared to me and Sam, was really kind of nuts.

She glanced at her phone again, and groaned. "Where is she?"

"I know where Sam is." We turned around. Gibby was leaning on Carly's door, smiling knowingly and nodding his head.

"Well, where is she?" Carly demanded after a moment when Gibby didn't say anything.

Gibby wandered in. "I was following Sam around, and I managed to acquire these high res pics." He held out three pictures. One was of Sam and her mom in some sort of hotel lobby. The next showed Sam, who was for some reason furious, sitting on a bed in a green room with her fists clenched. The last one was of Gibby in spy glasses. I decided to ignore that.

"Where'd you take the pictures?" Carly asked.

"And why were you following Sam around?" I added, trying not to sound too boyfriend-like. "Not that it bothers me or anything, because it doesn't, but -" Carly elbowed me hard. I nodded. "I'll shut up."

"Hey, _I'm_ the interrogator,_ I'll_ ask the questions!" Gibby snapped.

"But you're not -"

"Uh, did you _not_ hear what I just said?" Gibby interrupted Carly rudely. She blinked, and murmured something under her breath, but didn't respond. "The pictures were taken at the Sanctuary at Rutledge- Swanson."

I stared at him, stunned. "The mental institute?"

"What the heck is _Sam_ doing there?" Carly shrieked.

"I think her mom checked her in," said Gibby. "Hey, are those salt and vinegar chips?" He grabbed the bowl off the coffee table. "Can I take these?"

"Why?" I spluttered. I tried to think of any moment where Sam had been more insane then her mom. Nothing came to mind.

"Because they're really good. One time -"

"Gibby!"

"Sam's not insane!" Carly protested. "She's carnivorous and likes to hit people with bacon, but she's not insane! Why would her mom think that?"

"Has she been acting weird lately?" Gibby asked seriously.

"No, everything's been normal…" Carly trailed off, and looked at me with a horrified expression. "…Except that _Sam's_ been dating _someone new_." Carly jerked her head toward Gibby, unable to say anymore with giving anything away. But I understood.

It made sense, sort of. Sam had always hated me, and her mom knew it. Heck, everyone knew it. It _used_ to be one of the laws of nature, like 'what goes up must come down'. If someone tells you they don't believe in gravity, what do you do? Send them to the nearest mental institute for serious help. If Sam tells you that she thinks Freddie is this _smoking_ _hot_ guy who is insanely awesome and that she's _desperately_ in love with him - I'm obviously embellishing it a bit, but you get what I mean - you might become a bit concerned.

Not that Sam was having in depth conversations with her mom or anything. I'd been hanging out at Sam's, since her mom was off at her boyfriend's and wouldn't be back until late that night. I was trying to get her to study (if I was going to date her I might as well teach a good lesson or two along the way, me being the responsible one) and then we were kissing on her couch, then her mom walked in with cold Chinese take-out. I left very quickly after that. I would've stayed, to make sure Sam didn't get grounded or anything, except her mom began to beat me with the curtains... and I'm not talking about the normal curtains, if you know what I'm saying. I had nightmares that night about where those 'curtains' had been.

Anyway, Sam's mom found out about the whole Sam-and-Freddie-together-in-a-non-violent-way thing. Our cover would probably have been blown if Sam hadn't found some arcade tickets in her pocket and bribed her mom into not telling anyone. I'm not sure what she did with the tickets, but I'm just glad Sam did it.

"Sam's mom did find out a few days ago," I said, frowning.

"Find out about what?" Gibby asked.

"Did she freak?"

"Kind of. I mean, she has this rule about no boys alone in the house with Sam, for… well, you know."

"Find out about _what_?" Gibby repeated impatiently.

"Oh my God! I beat she's trying to punish Sam or something," Carly realized. The freaking out she'd been doing when I walked in was starting to look less significant compared to now.

"We've got to go get her out of there!" I said urgently.

"Find _out_ about _what_?" Gibby yelled.

"_Nothing_!" Carly and I both said at the same time, too stressed out to make Gibby feel like he was part of the conversation.

"Can Spencer drive us?" I asked.

"No, he's out at the library with Jenna. You'll have to."

I backed away. "No, no. The last time I drove, my mom made me watch six driving safety movies in a row and made me promise I'd wear a helmet next time."

"Freddie!" Carly said desperately, grabbing my shoulders. "Your g… Sam is locked up in a insane asylum and you're our only hope, but you won't help us because your mommy said no?"

I realized I was going to lose this argument, and nodded. "I'll get the keys." We hurried out of her apartment, Gibby trailing behind us.

"Will someone _please_ tell me what's going on?" Gibby whined again.

"Gibby!"


	11. iLose Gibby and Find Sam

**Hey, everyone, I'm back with chapter eleven. :D It's one of my favorites. I don't really have much news... so yeah, enjoy this chapter!**

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><p><strong>CARLY:<strong>

I am slightly ashamed to admit that, at the hospital, we purposely lost Gibby.

It was Freddie's idea. While Gibby was having a deep discussion with one of the patiens in the lobby about politics, of all things, Freddie pulled me aside and hissed, "We have to lose Gibby."

I was shocked at him. "Why?" Gibby was sweet, and always seemed more, I don't know, _innocent_ then everyone else in our grade. It didn't exactly help him, but he'd never done anything mean to me or Freddie. You know, besides threaten to pound the fudge out of Freddie that one time. He had a good reason, though.

"Because I don't want have to go talk to Sam and have to worry about Gibby suspecting anything." His eyes darted back to Gibby, who seemed to be getting pretty worked up. The woman had probably been in here for several years. What political situation could they possibly be _talking_ about?

I crossed my arms. "You just want to give in to hormones and swap spit with Sam."

"That," Freddie said, jabbing a finger at me, "is totally true." I rolled my eyes. "But can we? The fate of iCarly may depend on it."

I giggled. "You can't say big words like _fate_ when wearing a helmet with a purple bunny on it." Freddie had actually decided to listen to his mom about wearing a helmet while driving. Unfortunately, the only one he could find was florescent orange and had a neon purple Easter bunny on it. He flushed red and pulled it off.

"And, I never thought I'd have to keep you from making out with _Sam_ in public," I continued, teasing. "But I can't just let you loose Gibby. You've been blowing him off all week."

"Which is why one more time can't hurt," Freddie pointed out. It was completely illogical, but I've found the more I try to argue with my best friends, the more they became latched on to an idea. I used to be able to just bat my eyelashes at Freddie and that would be it, but Sam was now the keeper of that power. It was very inconvenient.

I groaned. "Ugh, fine. Go ahead and crush the heart of an innocent Gibby."

"Okay, thanks," Freddie said, smiling. "Yo, Gibby, get over here."

Gibby sauntered over. "I love this place! The people here know so much about our government!"

"That's great, Gib," Freddie said, not really listening. "Listen.. Can you go get us some, um… fried chicken!"

"Why?" Gibby asked.

"Because… Sam's going to be starving," Freddie improvised, not at all badly. "You might want to get a lot, because if you don't she may eat my face off."

I patted Freddie on back. "Yeah, she likes his face a _lot_."

Freddie gave me a withering look, but as usual the clever remark went right over the top of Gibby's head. He was still smiling at us. "I don't get it."

"We don't have time to explain mean jokes," Freddie said impatiently. "Go get some fried chicken! The fate of the world depends on it!"

Gibby nodded, all seriousness. "Aye-aye," he said in a deep, gravelly voice, "_Captain_." He marched toward the door, which for some reason sent a man in need of a sports bra standing by the door into hysterics. I shivered.

"Now, let's go save Sam from a future of insanity," Freddie said, rubbing his hands together like some evil maniac.

"I think she already has one with you," I mumbled, but followed him to the front desk.

The man at the front desk looked like he had inhaled six cups of coffee in the past six minutes. Every part of him was twitching. It was creepy.

I cleared my throat. "Excuse me?" He looked up, and smiled. A gold tooth glinted in the light.

"Yes, welcome to the Sanctuary at Rutledge-Swanson, how may I help you?" He sounded like a girl.

"Um, well, we're to visit Sam Puckett?" I said, unnerved by the tooth.

The man frowned, and his eyes scanned his computer. "You must have the wrong place. There's no Sam Puckett registered here. However, there is a Sam Schneider, and an Alyssa Puckett."

I exchanged confused looks with Freddie. "Um, our friend visited Sam today. Are you _sure_ she isn't here?"

The man glared at me. "Don't _sass_ me, young lady." I stepped back from the desk, offended.

"Maybe Mrs. Puckett registered Sam under a fake name," Freddie suggested to me.

"Why?" I asked, bewildered.

Freddie gave me a _duh_ look. "The woman uses _bras_ as curtains. She's obviously not right in the head."

I nodded. "Good call." I turned back to the man. "Can we visit Alyssa Puckett?" It seemed like the more obvious choice.

"Alyssa is staying in room 804, but she's one of our 'special guests'," he said, as if we should know what that meant.

"So, we can't visit her?" Freddie clarified.

"No, you can, as long as your in her immediate family." The man frowned at us over the top of his computer. "You don't look like your related -"

"We are," I said quickly. "We're her adopted siblings. I'm, uh, Charlotte, and this is… Edward. We're twins." I hoped the similar brown hair and brown eyes would be enough to get Mr. Twitchy to believe us.

"I'm not sure I believe you," the man said, still frowning at us. "I -"

"My mom is single," Freddie said, trying not to grimace.

"Done. I'll give you my number on your way out." The man slapped down two visitor's passes onto the desk. "Enjoy your visit."

As we walked away, Freddie hi-fived me, without turning around or stopping. "Are you really going to give him your mom's number?" I asked.

Freddie snorted. "Are you kidding? I don't hate my mom that much."

* * *

><p>No matter what Twitchy-Man thought was going to happen, we didn't enjoy our visit at all. First, we got lost and Freddie ended up falling into an empty pool when I tripped and crashed into him. Thankfully, he fell in the soon to be shallow end, and he landed on his feet. It also helped that practically every part of his body had been hardened over the years due to Sam's beatings.<p>

Then, we couldn't find room 804, which, due to some idiot being in charge, was on the fourth floor. When the elevator stopped, we were asked to hand over any objects in our possession that could be used as weapons against us. It totally freaked me out, and if it hadn't been Sam in there, I would have marched right back to my apartment and watched Celebrities Underwater without a backwards glance.

Except that it _was_ Sam in there. I walked up to the door, then I hesitated. "Should I knock? What if we've got the wrong room and it's some freaky guy?"

Freddie shrugged. "We won't know unless you go in. I don't think -" Suddenly, a huge woman came from out of no where and jumped on Freddie. They slammed onto the tile with a crash that made the eruption of Mount St. Helens seem like the pop of a Nice Crispy treat.

"The cumquat is ripe! The cumquat is ripe!" She began to scream, still on top of Freddie, who was floundering around under her like a dead fish. I just watched with raised eyebrows. None of the nurses seemed particularly keen on helping him. They didn't seem too surprised, either.

"Why does this always happen to me?" Freddie moaned. "Get off of me!" But when he tried to push her off of him, she shrieked and went even more berserk. Whipping out a neon green extension cord, she began to wrap him in it. Finally snapping back into motion, I hurried over to Freddie and tentatively gave the woman a shove. She shrieked again, stood up, and raced down the hall, her arms waving in the air.

"Help. Me. Up." Freddie hissed from on the ground. I clucked sympathetically, and pulled him up. The green extension cord was wrapped around everything but his right arm. An awkward bow stuck out on his chest. He looked like a present Spencer had tried to wrap.

"Are you okay?" I asked stupidly. Freddie just ignored me, limped over to Sam's door, and opened it with his non-extension corded arm. Following Freddie, I stepped into a room.

Sam was standing in the middle of the room, watching as we came in. As soon as she saw it was us, her face broke into a wide grin. "Carly! Freddie! Oh my God, you guys made it! But how -" she caught sight of Freddie and frowned. "Why are you tied up in a vine?" She sounded kind of freaked out about it, for some reason.

"Forget it," Freddie wheezed, still breathless from the Fat Lady Attack. He limped over to Sam and placed a hand on her shoulder. Hunching over, he said, "You've got… to convince your mom… that I'm not… bad looking."

Sam glanced at both of us, confused. "Why do I need to do that?"

"Because your mom checked you in here because she thinks your insane for liking Freddie!" I said, rolling my eyes. "Gibby showed us pictures."

She was even more confused now. "How did Gibby get pictures?"

"I honestly don't know," I shrugged.

"He's a Gibby," gasped Freddie. "Hey, will someone check to make sure my rib isn't broken?"

"Freddie, honey, I think you need to lie down," Sam said, crouching down so that her face was level with Freddie, who was normally taller than her. I forced myself not to comment on the endearing terms.

"Good plan," he mumbled. He clumped over and flopped onto her bed, breathing like Darth Vader. I chuckled.

"Looks like someone got rid of Gibby for nothing," I said, enjoying myself.

"Shut up," he moaned.

"You killed Gibby?" Sam grabbed my arm, and her eyes were wide with either horror or relief. I decided not to ask.

"No, Freddie just tricked Gibby into going away so he could kiss his little girly-friend," I poked her stomach and giggled. We both glanced at Freddie, who looked like a sumo wrestler had just sat on him. Which was basically true.

"Didn't work out well for him, did it?" Sam observed.

"No, it did not," I agreed.

"I fell into an empty pool," Freddie coughed. Sam gave him an odd look I didn't understand.

"So strange," she murmured, then cleared her throat. "But, you guys, my mom didn't check me in. No one here even knows I'm here. They all think I'm Alyssa. She's my cousin."

"But why -"

"For some crazy genetic reason, we look almost exactly alike. The only difference is our feet, which no one ever notices. She's got feet the size of Manhattan, and mine are tiny. It drives me insane."

"Small feet are good," I said supportively.

"Not if you like kick boxing," Sam grumbled. "Anyway, Alyssa made me and my mom visit, and she tricked my mom into thinking she was me and I was her, so she's at _my_ house scarfing down _my_ leftover ribs and watching _my_ TV, and I'm stuck in her mental hospital!" Sam was yelling by the end, her teeth gnashing.

"That's horrible!" I gasped.

"That's classic Puckett behavior," Freddie pointed out.

"That's so true," Sam admitted.

"Well, c'mon, let's go!" I exclaimed. "We have to tell your mom!"

"Wait," Freddie said as he sat up, looking a little better. "They're not going to let us just _waltz_ away with one of their patients."

"Who cares?" Sam said. "On the count of three, run for it."

"Sure," I shrugged.

Freddie staggered up off the bed. "Yeah, I'm not sure that's going to work, because -"

"One…" Sam grinned. I opened the door just a little bit.

"Guys, are you listening?" Freddie demanded.

"Two…" She walked around behind Freddie, who wasn't really paying attention. I opened the door further.

"Sam, I can't! I'm broken! I -"

"Three!" Sam yelled. She lifted Freddie up in a matter of seconds and hoisted him onto her shoulder. I whipped open the door, and we bolted through the hallway, pushing nurses and doctors out of the way. I heard the fat lady who assaulted Freddie screech, but we kept running. The only time we stopped was when we got into the elevator. The elevator music was totally affecting my adrenaline rush, and so was the freaked out bald man in the elevator with the white mustache. He ran out screaming when the elevator stopped.

So did we. We pelted past everyone, probably wrecking the little sanity the patients had left. We pushed through the revolving doors so fast that they still kept spinning around after we pushed through, and some lady got squashed.

At last, we reached Freddie's car. I leaned against the car door, more breathless then I'd ever been in my life. Even Sam was gasping for breath. She dropped Freddie onto the hot pavement. "Man, what have you been eating?"

"You know, the usual," Freddie muttered. "Twelve raw eggs for breakfast, a protein shake in between meals. The usual."

"If you weren't so broken it made me concerned, I would slap you silly." Sam rolled her eyes.

"Hey!" We all looked up. Gibby was walking towards us, holding six buckets of fried chicken. "I got the chicken -" Then he took a good look. "Man, what'd I miss?"

We all groaned.


	12. iBlackmail The Cops

**Hey, everyone, I'm here with chapter twelve. Now, what happened was that I wrote this scene, then decided it wasn't really nessacery to the plot and started writing this chapter without this scene. But if I tried to write a chapter while skipping this, it didn't really turn out very good. :,( So, I realized that, while this chapter wasn't nessacery to the plot, it was vital to keeping the quality of the story, and so it stayed. Which is good, since I loved writing this scene, and I hope you have just as much fun reading it. Enjoy.**

* * *

><p><strong>SAM<strong>

"Go faster!" I screamed at Freddie. I was sitting on my hands, resisting the urge to push him out the window, take the wheel, and floor it.

"I'm going at the legal speed limit, Sam," he said, his hands clenched around this steering wheel. "I'm not getting a ticket."

We were in Freddie's mom's car - which was a very nice car, probably because Mrs. Benson didn't want her _wittle Fweddie Bear_ to have an unsafe car - driving to my house, to put a stop to Alyssa. The plan? Get there, break her hopes, dreams, and _face_, and lock her back up in Loony Ville.

At least, that was the _plan_. We were never going to get there if _Benson _didn't hurry up with the driving.

"If we don't hurry," I snapped, "Alyssa will take everything I own and make a run for it. She'll convince my mom to move to Vegas, and they'll be gone in an hour."

"Isn't that being kind of melodramatic?" Carly said from the back, trying to keep the peace.

"If you know my mom, not really."

"Do you know where they make Polish Fish?" Gibby asked as he gulped down on some candy he found at the mental hospital (I would tell him not to eat it, because it probably had whacky gas in it or something, but that would be just too funny if it did). "Because I don't think it's made in Polishland."

"Gibby!" Freddie growled.

I glared out the window, watching the rain slide down the glass. A yellow buggy with a prehistoric old lady rumbled past us, and the lady waved. I groaned. "That's it. Crazy hags older than _Ms. Briggs_ are passing us. Give me the wheel."

He gaped at me. "No! Sam, you don't have your license!"

I snorted. "Yeah, like _that's_ going to stop me."

"I can't just pull over on a busy street and switch seats with you," he said desperately.

"Just give it to me!" I yelled, frustrated. I reached over and grabbed the wheel, crawling into his seat. I was kind of sitting on him, but at this point I didn't care. "Let go!"

I could tell Freddie was full-out terrified. "No, no - Sam! Get off of me, I'm driving, I'm the legal driver! This is breaking so many rules!" I kicked his ankle, shoving my foot onto the pedal. But Freddie's foot really wanted to stay on that pedal. It pushed my foot half off of it, so that we were both kind of driving. I'm sure it wasn't legal, but there was no way I was backing down.

"I know what I'm doing!"

"You got kicked out of driver's ed for crashing two cars. Let go!"

"Never! My entire life is at stake!" By this point, we were both yelling our heads off.

"You're so stupid -"

"No, no, no, just let go, Sam, sit _down_!"

And then Carly started freaking out. "Oh my God, oh my God. Guys, we're going to get arrested. Guys, calm down, guys! Sam! Freddie! Stop yelling. Oh my God!" Gibby started to say something, but none of us were paying attention.

Suddenly, the front of the car slammed into something, jolting both the car and our screaming match into a standstill. Carly shrieked. I jumped, and both me and Freddie's foot slid off the pedal.

"I was trying to _tell_ you guys we were going to crash into a telephone pole," Gibby said in an annoying _I-told-you-so _voice.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Without opening my eyes, I said, "Gibby, _I'm_ telling you that if you don't get _out_ of this car in thirty seconds, I will take my foot, and crash it into your face."

Gibby crossed his arms. "You don't scare me, Sam."

"Twenty-seven seconds."

"All right, I'm going!" Gibby shrieked. He yanked the door open, not flinching at the rain pounding down, and began to run down the street.

Carly sighed. "Do you two have to be so mean to him? I don't think they afford that much ther-"

A cop taped on the window, interrupting Carly's lecture. I sucked in my breath. If the cops recognized me from last time, I was screwed.

Then I took another look, and realized that _I_ recognized _him_. I felt a slow smile spread over my face. I had this in the bag.

Carly began breathing faster and faster. "That's it. We're dead. Oh, God, I'm gonna have an asthma attack."

Freddie glared at me. "Look what you did, Sam!" He hissed. "You got us arrested, and it looks like the front of car is totaled."

"And _you_ look like someone who never wants to be kissed again," I retorted. "Would you two calm down? I got this. Roll down the window."

Freddie looked like he was about to give me backtalk, then reconsidered and reluctantly rolled down the window.

"Good evening," Carly said hesitantly.

The cop stuck his head in our window, looking bitter. "Oh, yes. It was a fine evening until I saw you _hooligans_ driving down the street like you were being chased by _Bigfoot_. I had to leave my son's ballet recital to stop you nuts."

"Your son does ballet?" I said skeptically. "Isn't that a little -"

"Manly," Freddie interrupting, clumsily throwing a hand over my mouth as he sucked up to the cop. "Very manly."

The cop was obviously trying to decide whether or not to respond to my implied jab at his . After a moment, he said, "Which one of you two is the driver?" He pointed to both me and Freddie.

"I am, sir," Freddie said, elbowing me. I took the hint and scooted back into the passenger seat.

"Then, I am going to have to give you four tickets," the cop said, taking out his notepad.

"_Four_ tickets?" Freddie repeated, stunned.

"One for speeding, one for the blonde not wearing a seatbelt, one for hitting a telephone pole, and one for parking in a no-parking zone."

Carly stared at him. "But we crashed!"

"You're still in a no-parking zone. I haven't forgotten what you did to Carl," the officer snapped. "He had a _reputation_. Now the hobo by Market Bucket laughs at him."

Time to save our butts. "Well, if you remember iCarly, then you must remember me," I said innocently. "Sam Puckett, the girl you paid to tell her mother you _died_. It's nice to see you again, Jake."

The officer jerked his head up, banging it against the roof of the car. When he saw me, his eyes widened like he'd seen the devil. "Oh my God," he whispered hoarsely. Carly raised her eyebrow, still nervous. Freddie looked confused for a second, then his face cleared up and he nodded as he realized what was going on.

"If you miss her, it wouldn't be _any_ trouble for me to tell her you're really still alive, and that she can find you at the Seattle Police Department," I went on, examining my nails as if I was very interested in them. "No. Trouble. At. All."

Officer Jake gave me the evil eye. "What do you want?"

"Don't give us any tickets." I said, all business. "Pay for Freddie's car to be fixed. If it can't, get him a new one. A nice one. And give us fifty bucks."

"Look, Sam, I can't just forget about the tickets and pay for some random loser's car to be -"

"My mother used to call you her _cuddly ducky-wucky_."

"Okay, okay, I'm getting the money!" He yanked out his wallet and gave me five tens. "Go bananas!"

"Thanks! C'mon guys, let's go!" I jumped out of Freddie's wrecked car without looking back. Freddie and Carly followed quietly, and we walked across the street to a bus stop where we could get out of the rain.

"I'm not going to ask what your mom did to that cop," Carly said as soon as stopped. "But I'm sure glad she did it."

"What's the fifty bucks for?" Freddie asked. "From our apartment building to your house it only takes about twenty for a cab, and we've got about half that distance to go."

"I ran out of smoothie money last week," I said proudly. "And that cop really did owe me." Oh, the power of blackmail.


End file.
